DAMES
by divine one
Summary: Gibbs Investigations' latest case has Tony up to his eyeballs with dangerous villians, perilous plots, and of course, beautiful dames. Tony, Abby. Chap 1 updated 040508 and Chap 2 added.
1. Daytime Fairytales

TITLE: Dames  
Chapter 1: Daytime Fairytales  
AUTHOR: Devylish  
CATEGORY: AU/Het/Mystery  
FANDOM: NCIS  
PAIRING: Abby/Tony (in chap. 2 I promise!)  
RATING: PG-13+  
WARNINGS: AU in a big way  
WORDS: 1095  
SPOILERS: None.  
SUMMARY: What if Gibbs, DiNozzo, and McGee were PI's in the 1940's?  
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Absolutely, positively nothing. Disheartening really.

Dames, can't live with them, can't ignore them if they have a great pair of gams. Anthony DiNozzo - Private Investigator, let his eyes continue to trail up the shapely, silk clad pair that had just walked in his office door.

From the tips of her black heels, to the fitted black suit she wore, up to the tasteful hat with little black veil that sat atop her head, Anthony - Tony - was able to tell two things immediately. 1) His visitor definitely had great legs, and a figure to match, and 2) by the expensive cut of her outfit, her polished shoes, and the gleaming watch that peeked out from above her gloved hand, she had money… and lots of it.

All and all, she appeared to be his favorite kind of customer – female and monied.

"Mr. DiNozzo?" a quiet, but firm, voice questioned from behind the veiled hat.

Lifting his hand to straighten his tie, Tony rose up from behind his desk. "I'm Anthony DiNozzo, how can I help you, ma'am?" He motioned for her to take one of the two chairs that sat before the desk in his small office at Gibbs Investigations.

"Your secretary out front said that you might be able to help me," she stated as she settled into one of the chairs.

Tony walked around to the front of his desk, rested against the edge of it, and watched as his mystery visitor revealed herself. "Help you in what way, ma'am?"

Peeling off her gloves, she slowly crossed her legs, and lifted the veil that, until now, had hidden her face from him. He sighed inwardly; he was a strong man, but like most men, he had his weaknesses. Well, in his case, one weakness – a bird with a beautiful face, good figure, and nice legs. And attach to that the fact that he could see that this dame had traces of tears welling up in her eyes, and he knew almost without a doubt, that he was going to take her case… whatever it might be.

"My name is Ziva. Ziva David. My sister, Caitlyn, died a few months ago and I..." she looked down and blinked back the threatening tears, "I think she was murdered."

Tony didn't know exactly what he had expected to hear from Miss David – perhaps a tale about a cheating spouse, or missing brooch, but a murder conspiracy definitely had not been part of his expectations.

"Miss David, what makes you think you sister was murdered?"

"Money."

"Money?"

"Money. Our grandfather willed each of us a..." she paused and looked up at Tony as she measured her words, "a large sum of money. This money is doled out to us on a monthly basis through our 27th birthdays, at which point, the remaining sum will be given to us in total. We can access the whole sum of the money prior to our 27th birthdays if we get married, at which point, our 'fortunes,'" and here Miss David made eye contact with Tony again, "are placed in our husbands' hands."

Ziva, suddenly seeming to be overwhelmed with emotion, stood up and began to pace the short length of Tony's office. "The only other way that anyone would be able to access our inheritance would," her voice faltered, "would be for… for one of us to die before we got married. In that instance, there are a small number of people or groups that my grandfather has identified as recipients of that part of his fortune."

He could physically see her steeling herself. "That is why I think Caitlyn was murdered. She turned 26 shortly before she died, and she was engaged to be married this year."

"Miss David, your sister Caitlyn's death – just because she was 26, or just because she was engaged, neither of those facts are proof or even particularly suggestive of..." Anthony paused his words as Miss David paused her pacing.

"Mr. DiNozzo, you do not know me, so you will just have to take my word for it when I tell you I am not a woman prone to hysteria or daytime fairytales." She placed her hand on the back of the chair and leaned in toward him. "When my sister died, she was surrounded by a number of the people who are to inherit her half of my grandfather's fortune. And the last thing my sister said to me before – before she... well, she said she felt uneasy and that she thought she was being watched." Ziva straightened, frustration racing over her features. "I am sorry," she reached for her gloves and began to put them on, "maybe Gibbs Investigations is not the place for me to find help. I..."

"Wait, Miss David… wait." DiNozzo stood up from his perch atop the desk. "Did you go to the police with your concerns about your sister?"

"I did. I have spoken with the local police department more times than I care to recall, but, they are, apparently, even less intelligent than they look."

DiNozzo grimaced. Clearly Miss David had been dealing with the same officers that Gibbs Investigations dealt with on a regular basis.

He had a funny feeling that he was going to regret it, but he walked past her, opened his office door, and called out to the secretary. "Miss Palmer, tell McGee we have a case and I need him in here to take notes ASAP." He turned back to Miss David. "Miss David, we're going to need a retainer, and a list of everyone you feel might be involved in your sister's death. I can't promise you anything, but we'll look into the situation for you and see what we come up with."

Her thanks, not effusive, but heartfelt none the less, was interrupted by the arrival of the third, and junior PI of Gibbs Investigations: Timothy McGee. After a brief knock and fumbling with the doorknob, McGee entered the room.

"Palmer said you..." McGee's speech screeched to a halt as he locked eyes with Ziva.

As DiNozzo walked around his desk, he swore he heard the word "beautiful" slide out of McGee's lips. "Miss Ziva David, this is another of our investigators, Timothy McGee. McGee, this is Miss Ziva David, our new client."


	2. Stepping Out With My Baby

TITLE: Dames  
Chapter 2: Stepping Out With My Baby  
AUTHOR: Devylish  
CATEGORY: AU/Het/Mystery  
FANDOM: NCIS  
PAIRING: Abby/Tony  
RATING: PG-13+  
WARNINGS: AU in a big way  
WORDS: 1669  
SPOILERS: None.  
SUMMARY: What if Gibbs, DiNozzo, and McGee were PI's in the 1940's?  
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Absolutely, positively nothing. Disheartening really. **Body and Soul** lyrics not mine either.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah ummm I'm back! With a new chapter… frickin' finally! Sorry for the wait… but Miss Muse took a vacation and left me at home. Now that she's back…. Wooo whooooo!

**DAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMES**

By the time Anthony had finished questioning her, and McGee had finished mooning over her, Ziva David's list of even remotely qualified suspects for the alleged murder of her sister numbered all of 3.

Jeanne Froge – evaluator and representative of Edgar David's favorite philanthropy: The Central Art Reserve.

Lee Tell – David's personal solicitor.

Charles Noraton – current restaurateur/club owner, previously David's business partner for 10 years.

DiNozzo didn't honestly figure any of Miss David's cast of characters for murder; while she seemed to be a smart enough dame, he knew grief could make people think and do the strangest things. But regardless of his reservations, he'd had Miss Palmer and McGee do some checking around to get general information regarding the whereabouts of their three 'prime suspects'… which led him to where he was now at 8pm that same night.

His location? Across the street from the LoBall Night Club, the priciest, and fanciest of the three joints owned by Mr. Charles Noraton.

Tipping the brim of his hat a little lower over his eyes, DiNozzo passed his hands over the slight bulge in his right hand suit pocket – his baby, a.38, rested comfortably there; and in the left hand pocket of his suit sat 75.00 of the David retainer.

Stepping out from the shadows Tony crossed the street to the gleaming glass and chrome doors of the LoBall.

"Reservations sir?"

"No. But I was hoping you'd still be able to find a small table for me. Nothing too out of the way." DiNOzzo surreptitiously palmed the bribe he'd figured he'd need to get into this place, into the concierge's hand. The man pocketed the money without glancing at it and responded. "Very good Sir. I'll see what we can do. It will be just a minute."

"Thanks."

Stepping a bit further into the foyer of the club, Tony took off his coat and hat, handed them to the coat-check girl, and surveyed the main room.

The inside of the club gleamed nearly as much as the outside had; a few couples swayed together on a polished parquet dance floor; moving to the sounds of a ballad being played by a big brass band.

Crisp white tablecloths covered dining tables that curved around the small dance floor. The tables were filled with centerpieces of white flowers and white candles that flawlessly illuminated the jewels that glinted and sparkled on the wrists and necks of the women that seemed to be perfectly placed through the hall.

The room reeked of money…; it was a stench that DiNOzzo couldn't complain about, especially when it came accompanied by so many visual stimulants… his eyes followed a curvy blonde as she headed to the dance floor with her partner.

HE was interrupted in his pleasant perusal of her… assets by the arrival of the club's hostess. "This way sir." She led DiNOzzo through the sea of shimmering white and took him to a table at the far side of the club, a perfect spot for him to view the comings and goings of the place.

Catching her arm before she could wander off, DiNozzo asked her a question, "Say Doll, is Mr. Noraton in tonight?"

She looked him up and down, trying to decide how she was going to answer him, apparently, she liked what she saw because she responded with a smile: "No, not yet. He normally doesn't stop in until after 9."

"Thanks Babe," he released her arm and pulled a tip out of his pocket, "Send a waitress over when you get a chance, will you?" He settled into the small booth he'd been allotted as she trotted off.

An hour would give him time to get a drink, get a lay of the land, and get something to eat before he had to approach and feel out Mr. Noraton, Ziva David's first suspect.

**DAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMES**

"Crimminy!" Abigail Scuito looked down at the newest run she'd made in her last pair of stockings and sighed. There was no way she could darn this pair again, she'd resewn the nylon together so many times that, up close, the stockings looked more like a sweater than nylons. Yelling through the open connecting door to the other dressing room she made a last ditch effort.

"Hey Tallulah?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have a pair of stockings I could wear for my act tonight?"

"Hun, I havent' seen a pair of nylons since my last husband was around… I think he stole them with the 20 I had hidden in my lingerie drawer… needless to say, I've found a new hiding place for my spare cash!"

Abby laughed. Tallulah had had more husbands than most women had of shoes. But that was because she wouldn't mess around with a guy unless there was a ring on her finger. She was a rare breed in the performing world.

'Oh well, bare legs again I guess; at least until next paycheck.' If the price of nylons hadn't gone up so high in the last year, Abby could afford to buy more than a pair or two at a time. But as things stood, she wither needed the world economy to turn around, or a sugar daddy. And while she wasn't a prude by any stretch of the imagination, she wasn't interested in men. Not anymore. Not much. 'Damn men.'

Pulling off and tossing the tattered remanents of her nylons, Abby reached fort he petroleum on her dressing table, unscrewed the lid and dipped her fingers in. Rubbing her hands together, she quickly covered her legs with a thin thin layer of the petroleum. She then reached for her favorite lavender scented lotion and covered her arms and hands with that.

As she was finishing up, a knock, followed by a voice calling through the door gave her a time warning: "15 minutes to stage Miss Scuito.'

"Thanks Hugh!"

Abby moved to the small rack that held her dresses, and swiftly flipped through them.

Tallulah stuck her head in the connecting door just as Abby grabbed a dress and ducked behind the dressing screen that sat in the corner of the room.

"It was pretty busy out there when I performed. Diamonds from stem to stern." One of Tallulah's first husbands had been a sailor.

"Well let's hope the cash is being spent tonight to."

Abby slipped out of her dressing gown and pulled the evening dress off of its' hanger. It was a new dress, and she thought she might very well be in love with it. It was sexy, demure, and a bit unexpected… and it had the added benefit of not exposing her unclad legs.

It wasn't an elaborate dress. Black, bateau neck, long sleeves, slightly gathered at the waist, just on the left side, with the gathering held in place by a brooch of a spider's web. The skirt of the dress fell straight, somewhat fitted, to her form, and it just touched the floor when she wore her heels.

No, it wasn't an elaborate dress – in the front. The back was a somewhat different story… it was a cowl necked creation, exposing the skin of her back all the way down to her waist. And there was a small train – just enough to 'catch the eye' – at the bottom of the dress.

Tallulah gave a catcall whistle as Abby stepped out from behind the screen and moved to the mirror for one more check on her makeup and hair.

With a grin, Abby gave a small spin.

"Abigail, that dress is swell! Absolutely, swell! Where'd you get it?"

Abby smiled again, "It IS a gem isn't it? This girl I know from Rochester, made it for me. She's got style." Abby picked up her tube of Killer Red lipstick and leaned in to the mirror. One spritz of perfume at her neck, and she turned back to Tallulah for her final node of approval.

"Well, if your friend from Rochester ever decides she wants to make an outfit for a size 8 hoofer… think of me!"

Abby moved to the door with a laugh. "Will do! See you after my set."

**DAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMESDAMES**

DiNozzo savored the last bite of the steak he'd ordered, and followed it down with the final sip of the scotch he'd been nursing for the last hour.

Killer or not, Mr. Noraton clearly served quality food and drinks at his establishment. And as the lights dimmed in the club and the band struck up a mournful ballad, DiNozzo added 'quality music' to the list of good things at LoBall.

Glancing away from the entryway of the club to the stage in the front of the main room, DiNozzo did a double-take.

She was striking. Dark hair, curled 'just so'. Statuesque, curvy, sheathed in something black that hugged her frame the way it should be hugged.

As the music swelled, the dark angel began to sing, and Anthony DiNozzo was lost.

My heart is sad and lonely.  
For you I cry,  
For you, dear, only.  
I tell you I mean it  
I'm all for you  
Body and soul

As she moved around the stage, drawing in the diners with her eyes and her voice, DiNozzo watched her figure. The broad was beautiful. Yeah, yeah… he had a thing for beautiful women. That was a fact. But there was something about this one….

I spend my days in longing  
And wondering why it's me you're wronging  
Why haven't you seen it  
I'm all for you  
Body and soul

Something that made him 'shiver'; and Anthony hadn't shivered because of a dame in a… really long time.

"She's something isn't she?" DiNozzo's view of the stage was suddenly blocked by a large tweed covered figure. "Charles Noraton." The tweed figure extended its hand. Anthony stood as he shook the florid middle aged man's hand.

"Mr. Noraton." DiNozzo glanced at the stage one more time before turning his full attention to the man who was the reason for his being at the LoBall.


	3. Whodunits

**TITLE**: Dames  
**Chapter 3**: Whodunits  
**AUTHOR**: Devylish  
**CATEGORY**: AU/Het/Mystery  
**FANDOM**: NCIS  
**PAIRING**: Abby/Tony  
**RATING**: PG-13+  
**WARNINGS**: AU in a big way  
**WORDS**: 2651  
**SPOILERS**: None.**  
UMMARY**: What if Gibbs, DiNozzo, and McGee were PI's in the 1940's?  
**DISCLAIMER**: I own nothing. Absolutely, positively nothing. Disheartening really.

.

.

"_Mr. Noraton." DiNozzo glanced at the stage one more time before turning his full attention to the man who was the reason for his being at the LoBall. _"Yes. Yes she is something. Apparently you hire quality talent to go with the quality of your food and drinks."

"Thank you. My father always told me 'if you're going to do something, do it right.' I've never forgotten his words."

_My father told me to shut the door behind me when I left. Different fathers, different words of advice huh? _Tony smiled politely, "Sounds like sage advice." He spun the ice around in the bottom of his glass.

"Would you care for another drink Mr. --?"

"DiNozzo. Anthony DiNozzo. Sure. Scotch."

Mr. Noraton raised his hand to wave a waiter over. His beefy hand was the size of two of Tony's; gold and bejeweled rings adorned three of his fingers, the flesh of those digits curving and pillowing out over the edges of the shining metal.

"Danny, I need two scotch on the rocks. Make it my private reserve."

"Yes, sir." The waiter scampered off.

"Your staff seems very well trained. I take it your hostess was kind enough to inform you that you had a guest waiting?"

"Yes, yes. All of my employees are well instructed. Ida is particularly good at warning me about visitors."

"Warning you?"

"I'm a 'wealthy' man, Mr. DiNozzo and every once and a while, I get visitors at my clubs who are, shall we say, up to no good."

"Up to no good?"

Mr. Noraton lifted his index finger to his nose and pushed the tip to the side. "Gangsters, Mr. DiNozzo. Men of ill-repute."

"Ahhh." Tony settled in his chair more comfortably. "So _Ida_ told you she didn't think I was a man of ill-repute -- a representative from one of the local families?"

"No, no. She simply pointed you out to me. I made that judgment call for myself."

"Well thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess."

"I will admit to being curious as to why a," Noraton paused and let his eyes sweep across Tony, "A police officer? A Private Investigator? Would be interested in meeting with me."

"Good eye… I'm a PI, and I'm actually doing some follow up on the death of Edgar David's daughter, Caitlyn." Tony watched Noraton's features as he mentioned Edgar and Caitlyn.

"Ahh, poor Caitlyn. Still in the blush of youth and taken from us too soon. She was a lovely, lovely woman."

"And in good health?"

"Prior to her death? Yes. As far as I know. But then again, I wasn't as close to the family in the past few months as I had been in the past."

"No? And why was that?"

"I don't --," he stopped as the waiter delivered their drinks.

"Thanks."

"Thank you Danny my boy."

"You're welcome, sirs."

"Good health, much wealth, and the happiness that comes with." Noraton lifted his glass in toast.

Tony raised his glass in response and took a sip. "Now this, Sir, is scotch."

"It is my guilty pleasure."

"I can see why." He took another sip before redirecting Noraton. "You were saying?"

"Hmm, what? Oh, yes, I don't really like to speak out of school Mr. DiNozzo. And I really don't have proof that I'm right, but…"

"But?"

"I rather think that I was pushed out of the David inner circle. Pushed out in a calculated and determined manner."

"No offense, but you don't strike me as the type it would be easy to push out of any place you didn't already want to leave."

Noraton chuckled good-naturedly. "That is a fair assessment of my character… and my girth." He savored a taste of scotch before continuing. "And perhaps I was a willing recipient of the 'push' – ready to jump ship as it were. Perhaps, indeed."

"What makes you think you were being pushed?"

"My fingertips tingled? My belly ached? My nose itched? I really don't know Mr. DiNozzo. I dare say it wasn't any one thing, and more a collection of 'things'." He took a deep breath and moved the conversation away from his troubled body parts. "I'm guessing that Ziva David is the one who has retained your services?"

Tony hesitated for half a second before nodding his head in agreement.

"Yes, I thought as much. She was never satisfied with the doctor's proclamation of heart-attack. And I don't know that I completely disagree with the child. A heart attack? At 26 yrs of age? Unlikely – unless you're built a bit more like me, and Caitlyn was a wisp of a thing… a strong wind could carry her away."

"Did the police ask you your opinion on the matter?"

"The police? Ahh, you mistake my 'understanding' of Ziva's assessment of her sister's death for agreement. I didn't completely agree with her. While Caitlyn did appear to be young and healthy, the person who I would consider to be the most detrimental to her health wasn't at the house the night she died."

Tony shook his head in confusion. "And who do you suspect?"

"Suspicion is such a strong word. I have an inkling of a thought someone who I think it might possibly be. But I don't know that my assumptions are worth labeling him as a suspect."

"Him?

"Again, it's just a supposition. But my gut tells me it was Ari; he would have been the only one able to get close enough to Caitlyn to poison her -- if it was indeed a poison induced death.

But as I said, he wasn't at the David home when Caitlyn died."

"Ari?"

"Ah, Ziva didn't mention Ari to you? Ari Perecer. He was Caitlyn's fiancé. Strange she didn't mention him to you. If there was any foul play at the David home, Ari… Ari would be the one that I would worry about."

Tony whipped out the small notebook he carried in his front pocket and scribbled down _Ari Perecer_. "You mention 'foul play' Mr. Noraton, but I still hear you prefacing that phrase with 'if'. What **do** you think happened to Caitlyn David?"

"I think Dr. Ethington was right, and she died of a heart attack. I wouldn't, however, be surprised if further research into Caitlyn's death proved her heart attack was caused by outside sources."

Tony paused then went back to an earlier question. "If I'd been in your shoes I think I would have still taken my concern – my inkling – to the police."

"Have you ever thought you were being followed Mr. DiNozzo, but turn around to see nothing? No one behind, you? – the streets as empty and clear as the bright blue sky? Well that is how I felt -- how I feel -- about Caitlyn's death. Assumptions, feelings, suppositions get you nowhere in business, and they get you nowhere in the rest of life. I will not put my name in the newspapers based upon assumptions or feelings. I work off of facts, numbers, and analytical tangibles."

Tony swirled his thoughts around as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass.

"And, as I said Mr. DiNozzo, Ari would be my prime suspect **if** it weren't for 2 things. 1) he hadn't been near the David compound for almost a week prior to Caitlyn's death, and 2) the only way he would get money from the David's is to marry into the family. No Caitlyn. No money."

Staring at the large man in front of him, Tony threw out, "The same thing can't be said about you Mr. Noraton." Tony glanced at his notes, "You, Mr. Tell, and Jeanne Froge, all gained when Caitlyn David died."

"True. But let me offer up a few more facts. 1) I watched Caitlyn and Ziva David grow up from around the age of 5 until now. Twenty years. They were like nieces to me. I wouldn't harm a hair on their heads. 2) Edgar David was an asshole, but he was also my partner and a friend for more years than I care to share. Again, I wouldn't hurt him or his. And finally, 3) look around you Mr. DiNozzo; does it look like I need money from the David's?"

"Family kills family Mr. Noraton, they even did it in the Bible. And money, to quote the good book, 'is the root of all evil'. People who don't have it, want it; and those who do have it, want more. So, I'm going to ask, where were you on the night that Caitlyn David died?"

Noraton chortled, "Let's see, that was the 23rd? Two months ago? Ha, I would have been where I am every night. At the HiBall and then at the LoBall, or vice versa; I close one or the other of them down every night."

"Okay." That wouldn't be very easy to confirm, especially since Noraton seemed to have so many of his employees eating out of his hand. New question. "So how much money have you inherited?"

"None of us has actually inherited any money yet. It's still tied up in the courts, but there should be a grand total of around 15 million."

DiNozzo whistled softly under his breath.

"Yes, indeed. 5 million for each of us. It's definitely something worth whistling about."

"And Perecer, your personal first bet for 'whodunits', he gains nothing by Caitlyn's death?" Noraton nodded his head in affirmation. "All right, then who's your second bet for 'whodunits'?"

"I guess I'd have to say 'I am'. I'm a business man, so money makes my world go round." He gave a hard smile, "fortunately, I know I didn't do it, so I'll give you my number three choice. Tell. Lee Tell. He's a lawyer. Enough said." Noraton chortled at his own dry sense of humor and hefted his way out of the booth. "I do have some duties to attend to tonight Mr. DiNozzo, so I'm going to leave you here to mull over the facts, and I dare say, the feelings. I'll send some dessert over for you. The Baked Alaska is sublime. And it's on the house."

Tony stood and extended his hand. "Thank you for your time, sir."

"My pleasure. My pleasure. I hope," again a smile broke across his florid face; this one less hard, and definitively more mischievous, "You enjoy the rest of your evening with us."

Sparing only half a thought to the meaning behind Noraton's grin, Tony settled back into the booth and took another sip of scotch before focusing on his pad of paper.

He was still scribbling notes when a shadow fell over his table again. Without looking up he waved his hand to the table. "You can just put the dessert down… I'll get it in a second." As a second thought Tony looked up as the plate was placed in front of him, "Oh and can I get a cup of –"

… It was her.

The bird.

The skirt.

The dame.

The one who'd started singing her set just as Charles Noraton sat down at his table. And she was even more attractive up close than she was from a distance.

Scrambling to his feet, Tony edged out of the booth and found himself right in front of her.

She was dark, and pale, and curved in all the right places. She was also tall. In her heels, she was just an inch or two shorter than him. He'd always been drawn to women who were tiny, petite little things, but suddenly, he was thinking tall might be tastier.

"You're staring."

She has a whiskey hued voice that poured over him, pulling him out of his stupor. "Uh, I guess I was. Beautiful women have that affect on me."

She laughed, brushing off his compliment with an invisible flick of her hand. "And a charmer. But then again, good looking men like you normally are. Charming that is." She eyed the table. "Mind if I sit down? These shoes are killing me."

Tony smiled and held his arm out over the table, inviting her to settle in.

"Thanks."

As she curved her way into the booth Tony blew out a quick breath, bent his head from one side and then to the other, then slid the seat across from her.

Noraton didn't ask much of the performers, not like some club owners did, wanting private performance (or even one on one performances) so when he'd come back to Abby's dressing room and said he had a friendhe wanted her to meet. She'd been surprised, and curious.

"If you could get a piece of the Baked Alaska my dear, and take it to table 23. Yes, that would be lovely. Quite appreciated really. He's a new fan of yours and I think he'd love meeting you. Would you be able to do that my dear? Just a drink, or a piece of dessert with him, introduce yourself."

"Sure thing, Mr. Noraton." She'd been looking forward to planting her tush in a chair, but she figured five more minutes wouldn't kill her.

And then she saw him.

Table 23.

The delicious guy who she'd devoured with her eyes when she first moved out onto the stage. Maybe this little favor for Mr. Noraton would be worth the sore toes.

So Baked Alaska in hand she headed over and came to a stop at his table. She was just about to clear her throat, or sing a note, or something to get his attention, when, without looking at her, he waved at her to put the plate down. _Whatever he's scribbling must be awfully important… that or he's a __geycat__. _She eyed him silently. _Mr. Noraton did say that he was a friend of his… maybe he meant he was a '__**friend'**__ of his. Sigh… all the cute ones. _

Abby had just about made up her mind to walk away when he looked up.

And then he lit up.

And, yeah, the way he took in her figure -- from her toes up to the loose curls on the top of her head -- definitely not a geycat.

"You're staring."

Abby and Tony sat in silence for a few seconds. Him, uncharacteristically at a loss of words, and her, trying really hard not to talk too much – and for once, succeeding.

_Keep your mouth shut Abby, don't say anything to the cute man. Your mom told you one thing about men, and it's that they don't like women who talk too much. So, shut up. Keep your lips zipped. Only open them to breath. And to laugh if he says something clever. _

_Ooooh! And to DRINK._

Tony was still racking his brain for something witty, or suave, or even remotely intelligent to say, when he saw the songbird reach across the table and pick up his scotch.

He watched with disbelief and amusement as she closed her eyes and threw back the last of his drink.

With a shake of her head as the alcohol slid smoothly down her throat, Abby took a deep breath and then realized what she'd just done. Her eyes flew open.

Tony smirked. "Good?"

"Yes. Wonderful. Really good. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. But I was thinking about… well, I'm not going to tell you what I was thinking about, but the next thing I knew, I was thinking about having a drink… and there your drink was. Not that I do that a lot – think of drinks that is. I'm not a lush or drunkard. I was just looking for something to do with mouth so that I didn't start babbling about nothing. Or something." She took a deep breath, "Like I just did."

His warm laugh spiked through her veins. "Feel free to use anything of mine _whenever_ you're looking for something to do with your mouth."


End file.
